


Space's Best Escape Plan

by Staubengel



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Violence, mentions of brutality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-23 17:05:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14938358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staubengel/pseuds/Staubengel
Summary: Peter crash-lands on Sakaar. There, he meets the Grandmaster and his favourite champion, Ronan the Accuser. One of the two, Peter wants to get away from. The other, he wants to be a part of his escape plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FancyKraken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyKraken/gifts).



> For my wonderful, amazing, beloved Bonnie <333 Happy Birthday, darling *huggles*

Peter had felt so lucky when his space-ship had crashed onto Sakaar, because it appeared to be an inhabited planet. Things had looked a lot less nice when some people had made attempts to eat him (Peter began to wonder at this point if it was something about him that made aliens want to devour him whole, or if he just kept meeting the wrong kind of people). When that beautiful but very drunken lady had rescued him, things had started to brighten up again. But then she had delivered him to this absolute weirdo with too brightly coloured clothes and a weird sense of humour who somehow reminded Peter of someone he might have known in a different life or universe, but who definitely was _not_ someone he _would_ have liked to know. That somehow then had decided that he was 'not suitable for the arena' because 'it would be a shame to waste such beauty for gruesome entertainment' and therefore, Peter had been taken to a room to wash and dress and then had been guided to some sort of lounge at the top of a very big stadium or something.

Now, Peter was sitting on a sofa as long as other people's entire living room, awkwardly leaning away from the 'Grandmaster' (as that man-shaped paradise bird liked to call himself, apparently) who had draped an arm around his shoulders and was babbling away happily while sipping at his drink. Peter would have preferred the company of the beautiful ladies who also flocked the suite, but they seemed to be just as averse to that weirdo as Peter was himself and kept their distance.

Peter had tried several times to make it clear to this man that he didn't want to stay and just needed a hand in repairing his space-ship, and that he would definitely pay for it – with  _money!! –_ but the peacock-man seemed entirely disinterested in Peter's attempts to communicate with him. Finally, Peter had resigned to accept he was nothing but eye-candy to this man and that he would have to get out of here on his own somehow. Quickly. Before this colourfully clad dinosaur decided to try and invite him to his bedchambers.

Peter had also tried several times to get a clue as to what was going to happen down there in this arena. It seemed like people would be fighting each other, and to be honest, this unsettled Peter quite a good deal. He had never been one to get into fights himself, he had specialised in getting  _out_ of them instead, and he had never particularly liked watching other people fight, either. Fistfights already were bad enough, but if he got it right, these people would fight each other with weapons, and probably 50% of them would die, assuming the winning party would kill their opponent off. 

Peter didn't like people getting killed that much. If possible, he liked to avoid taking part in that. But the arm of the Grandmaster was weighing down on his shoulders and he was very certain that he couldn't escape that beacon of misguided taste that easily.

A giant hologram of the fluff-headed dipshit opened the 'festivities' and made everyone cheer from their seats in excitement. Some of the spectators had little ships, floating over the arena, to watch the massacre from a safe distance and without someone with a big head or a terrible hairdo ruining their line of view. Peter wished someone with such a hairdo would be sitting in front of him. Instead, a badly dressed hobby-DJ was sticking to his side like a wet piece of candy to the sole of your shoe.

The first contestants entered the battlefield. One of them looked like they were built completely out of rocks. Peter grimaced and looked away. He didn't want to see the other guy getting harpooned by the spear-like weapon the rock-guy was carrying.

The crowd was cheering and rooting loudly, but Peter zoned out and started to work on an escape plan instead. Maybe it was good that dinosaur guy was into him that much. Maybe he could get some information out of him that would help him get away from here. Where he could find a functional ship, for example. That would be a great start for an escape.

He was in the middle of imagining how he was flying a Millenium Falcon-like space-ship over the city, heroically escaping volley after volley from his evil pursuers (their ships would be looking like TIE fighters, of course), as he was distracted by the huge hologram of the Grandmaster flickering up above the arena once more.

“And now it's finally time for the highlight of today's fights!” it was announcing. The crowd already started cheering like mad. They seemed to know what was about to be happening. Peter, on the other hand, was positively clueless.

“Oh, my Sakaaran friends, my wonderful lost and found ones: Get ready to witness another victory of the glorious, the magnificent Ronan the Accuser!”

The audience now completely lost it. Blue powder was being tossed in the air, covering all of the tiers in misty clouds. People were waving self-made paper mâché heads of a bald, angry looking guy, painted in blue. Only now did Peter notice that some of the attendants had shaved their own heads and that quite a lot of people had painted their faces blue as well. Somehow he got the feeling that this Ronan was a bald and angry dude with blue skin. But that was just a wild and far-fetched guess on his side.

He watched the gates down in the arena. One of them opened to reveal at least a dozen huge, chunky, mean-faced... monsters. Yes, Peter would call them monsters. Each of them armed with enormous, nasty-looking weapons. A mace. A battleaxe. A double-bladed sword. Peter felt dead even just looking at them.

He wondered briefly how this Ronan was supposed to win against this troop of butchers. Even one of them should be enough to slaughter a handful of fighters who knew what they were doing.

When the second gate started to rise, Peter felt his eyes glueing to it in curious anticipation. He even held his breath without realising it.

It took a moment before Ronan arrived.

The gate clattered all the way up to the top and then it stayed there. Bombs of blue dust and smoke exploded at the feet of the opening, covering the passage. The crowd was cheering and chanted Ronan's name. Peter felt swept up in all this spectacle, his heart was hammering excitedly inside of his chest.

A dark figure was peeling out of the dust-clouded shadows. Immediately, the cheers died down. It became absolutely quiet in the entire arena, the audience was collectively holding its breath.

Then Ronan stepped out of the gate and into the bright light of the arena.

And Peter's heart stopped beating altogether.

Ronan was a tall man. He had broad shoulders and muscular arms and legs, but not in a thick way. Despite his obviously strong physique, he still looked agile and slender somehow. He really was bald and he really had blue skin, but his face was covered in smeary black paint that stuck to his eyes and brow and ran down his cheeks in two straight lines, connecting with his also blackened chin.

He was wearing a warhammer as a weapon, with a long, thin shaft and a simple, sleek head. His sleeveless armour was made of black leather.

Peter couldn't see any details from up here, but even from so far away, Ronan was _impressive._ Suddenly, he felt very bad for the bunch of monsters who had to face this much-loved champion.

Ronan walked into the arena with the self-secure ease of someone who has done this quite a couple of times and has always won. Of course he had. Otherwise, he wouldn't be the Grandmaster's champion.

After a few feet, he stopped and raised his hand to place a helmet on top of his bare head. He took the shaft of his hammer in both of his hands. He studied his opponents. Then he boomed, with a voice as deep and dark as thunder: “Felons of Sakaar! You stand accused!” and the crowd on the tiers broke into jubilance.

Peter felt like cheering as well, even though he hated this massacre.

The monsters down in the arena growled in unison. Peter wondered if they were siblings or if their species simply looked very similar on the regular. Ronan had called them felons. Was that it? Was this weird, brutal show some kind of tribunal? But then why was Ronan in there? Why would the Grandmaster risk to kill his judge?

Peter had no time to keep on wondering, because, with a roar, Ronan plunged forward into battle. The monsters grabbed their weapons and dashed at him too.

In hindsight, it was hard for Peter to describe how he felt about the following minutes.

It was definitely gruesome. Weapons crashed against each other, against body parts, smashed bones and crushed tissue. Blood splashed on the floor of the arena, disgusting sounds of damaged bodies filled the air.

But it was also highly fascinating. Ronan was an astonishing mixture of agility and strength. He ducked and sidestepped, dodged and avoided just as much as he charged, struck and countered, and somehow, he made the merciless slaughter he engaged in look like an elegant dance instead.

Peter couldn't look away.

He couldn't tell how long the fight lasted, but eventually, Ronan stood there, in the middle of the monsters he had slain, covered in their blood, chest heaving, head raised towards the loge in which the Grandmaster was sitting. Peter had never seen anything like this fight. He felt intoxicated, as if the show had been some sort of drug.

“My champion,” the Grandmaster crooned proudly and got up from the sofa. “Isn't he just faaantastic? And such a looker! I have never seen anyone wearing blood as well as he does!”

The crowd cheered once more. They began to chant Ronan's name. And suddenly (and Peter couldn't recall later if it was out of a flash of genius or born from the intoxicated state his mind was in), Peter had a plan for how to escape this planet without having to curry favour with the walking relic in front of him.

He stood up and stepped beside the Grandmaster, collecting all of his breath to shout down into the arena. There was no giant hologram of him, so he had to be loud to be heard.

“I,” he began and he saw in his peripheral vision how the Grandmaster's head spun around in surprise, “Peter Quill, legendary Star-Lord –“ He paused for a moment to give people the chance to voice their admiration. Nothing happened. He went on a bit disappointed. “ – feel honoured to announce that I will be our beloved champion's tribute tonight, to honour his astonishing victory over Sakaar's despicable outlaws. It is a privilege to be selected for such a prominent task.”

There was a moment of confused silence. The Grandmaster stared at Peter with wide eyes. Peter didn't know if he was outraged because Peter had spoken to the audience and Ronan without permission, because Peter had stolen the Grandmaster's show, or because he himself had wanted to take Peter to his chambers tonight. Maybe it was a mixture of all three of those options.

After a brief moment of consideration, the crowd began to cheer again, though. Peter couldn't make out Ronan's expression, but he still looked up at them, unmoving.

The Grandmaster seemed to struggle for words.

“Excellent,” he finally uttered. “Excellent! What an excellent idea! A tribute! My dear Sakaaran: Peter Star-Love, everybody!”

“Star-Lord. It's Star-Lord,” Peter corrected. But the Grandmaster wasn't listening. He grabbed Peter's wrist and held it up in the air triumphantly. Peter had no idea what was going on in that big fat jell-o of a brain this man was having, but he seemed to be excited about anything sexual, even if it didn't include him. Whatever it was, it definitely was right by Peter.

He smiled widely and tried to catch Ronan's gaze.

He did, but the expression in it was unreadable.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Two hours later, Peter was walking down the corridor that led to Ronan's chambers. He had eaten and had been offered new clothes, but, after one look at the garish and gaudy options, had decided that his own clothes worked just fine for this occasion. Whatever the occasion was, actually. After further consideration, Peter wasn't so sure anymore if he really had made a great decision by announcing himself the champion's tribute.

His plan had been to either flee when he was on his way to Ronan's quarters – which he couldn't pull through because he was accompanied by four armed guards – or to try and convince Ronan to help him get away somehow.

It wasn't the first time Peter used his amorous skills to get what he wanted, including getting out of delicate situations. But who said that Ronan would even be game for this? Maybe he was completely loyal to the Grandmaster and wouldn't allow Peter to get away. Would maybe even sell him out to the Great Fossil to make sure he would be punished. Maybe he would be Ronan's next opponent down in the arena then. Oh God. What had Peter brought upon himself here?

The doors to Ronan's chambers were huge and red. Two guards stood in front of them, but Peter was very sure that they were only here to keep unwanted visitors away, because after he had seen Ronan fight in the arena, it was clear that those two guys wouldn't be able to stop him if they tried. Peter's companions nodded at them and they opened the door for him. None of them said a word. Peter smiled at them anyway, in the most self-confident way he could master, and sauntered right past them into the room.

Internally, though, his heart was almost bursting through his chest, his palms were sweating, and a low but persistent voice kept screaming continuously inside of his head.

But it was too late now. The doors were closing behind him and Peter was standing in the big room that was Ronan's quarters. Alone. Except for the Grandmaster's champion who held Peter's entire fate in one of his strong, blue hands now.

Peter couldn't see him, so he looked around.

“Hello...?” he asked tentatively. “Anyone here? Uh. It's me, Peter. Your, uh, tribute.”

No one answered. Then, Peter heard the low splashing of water and turned his head to the left. From the shadows, two purple eyes were staring at him intently. Peter felt a cold shudder running down his spine and swallowed heavily. Oh damn, he was so going to die thanks to this stupid plan of his...

More water splashed as Ronan got up from the pool he had been sitting in. Peter couldn't help but stare. Ronan was buck ass naked and if Peter had thought he was impressive before, he clearly needed a new adjective to describe what he thought of Ronan _now._ 'Impressive' by _far_ didn't seem the right word anymore.

Ronan was a specimen. Blue skin stretched over hard, big, well-defined muscles. His body had perfect proportions. Peter couldn't help but let his eyes wander down to his dick and no, he definitely wasn't let down. It was just as glorious as the rest of Ronan, and Peter's own cock twitched a little in his pants at the sight of it.

Then, Peter's eyes went to scrutinise Ronan's features which looked astonishingly beautiful now that he could see them from up close. His face was slim, but his cheeks looked somehow puffy. He had a long nose that was crooked slightly to the side; maybe it had been broken once. His lips were full but not too much. His entire head was bereft of any hair, except his lashes. Not even eyebrows arched over his deep, purple eyes.

His eyes... They were fascinating to look at. Black colour spread into the purple, as if someone had dropped a splash of ink into violet liquid. Peter had never seen such beautiful eyes before.

As Ronan came closer, Peter became aware of the thin, purple veins that shone through Ronan's light-blue skin. They meandered over his body like an irregular pattern.

Peter swallowed again.

“Hi,” he said and was surprised how normal his voice sounded despite him being torn between fear for his life and the weirdest boner ever. “I'm Peter. I'm your –“

“Tribute,” Ronan finished his sentence. His voice was low and rich, like thick, black velvet. “I know.”

“Yeah, right,” Peter mumbled. It was definitely distracting to have a naked man standing in front of you that looked like someone had built him after the pictures they saw in your dreams.

Ronan stepped out of the pool and was even closer to Peter now. He was almost an entire head taller than him, and looked down at him with those attentive, bright eyes in their unusual colour. Peter caught himself holding his breath.

He felt unprotected under Ronan's sharp gaze, but, strangely, he wasn't afraid anymore. Ronan seemed interested in him, curious rather than hostile. There was no reason for him to be averse to Peter. Yet.

Peter went through the options he currently had. He could either be blunt and tell Ronan he wanted to get away from this planet, risking to have Ronan immediately sell him out to the sicko in his flashy outfit. He _could_ be lucky and Ronan would help him instead and let him get away from Sakaar. In both cases, though, Peter would miss the opportunity to get dicked down by this very beautiful man in front of him. And, thinking completely logical here, it would definitely improve his chances with Ronan if he provided some really good shagging first, right? Right. Yeah, that argumentation was totally reasonable.

Peter put on his best seductive smirk. “So, big guy,” he purred. “What can I do for you?”

Ronan studied him with a slightly furrowed brow. Peter did his best to keep focused on his face and not to let his gaze wander down to his crotch instead.

“I've never had a tribute before,” Ronan finally said. “You cannot convince me that this was the Grandmaster's own idea.”

Okay, a smart one then. Peter had to be careful with his words if he didn't want to shoot himself in the foot.

“It wasn't,” he admitted with a shrug. “He had invited me to watch the fight and when I saw you, I came up with the idea myself. To be honest, I prefer being _your_ tribute than the _Grandmaster's_ booty.”

Ronan's eyes narrowed a little. He seemed to ponder whether to believe Peter or not. He definitely was suspicious.

Peter reckoned that it wouldn't be any good to lie to Ronan. He seemed too sceptical about this situation. He didn't fully believe Peter and maybe he was even suspecting him to have sneaked his way into his chambers to try and assassinate him in his sleep or something. Ronan seemed to be a very distrustful person, which probably stemmed from his position as an A class warrior. Peter had to convince him he could be trusted, or Ronan might just kick him out of his quarters.

He sighed lowly.

“Okay, okay,” he began and raised his hands in defeat. “Truth time. Completely honest right now, I swear. To be honest, I got here by accident and I would very much want to leave again. But the Grandmaster won't let me. I figured if I did you a favour, you might help me get away from him. Now don't get me wrong, I do find you _very_ attractive. Like, top-notch attractive. Super much. Which is why I even had this idea in the first place. Believe me, I wouldn't have offered myself to someone who I didn't find hot and all, really. But since you _are_ hot – and I mean _really_ hot, like, seriously – I totally don't mind if we –“

Ronan placed his fingers over Peter's mouth.

Peter was so perplexed by this gesture that he could only blink at him.

“You want to use me as a device to get away from Sakaar, then,” Ronan concluded. “And your offer to be my tribute is a mere repayment for the service you are expecting from me.”

Peter shook his head. “I would sleep with you anyway,” he stated, a bit muffled by Ronan's fingers on his lips. “I just thought you might –“

Ronan pressed his fingers harder against Peter's mouth. Peter grunted lowly.

“You _are_ easy on the eye, but you talk too much,” Ronan stated.

Well, at least he found Peter attractive. That was good.

“I can help you get away from Sakaar, if you wish to. I work for the Grandmaster, but I owe him nothing. And I do not care about his affairs. He has no right to keep you here against your will. If a sexual interaction is how you wish to repay me for my help, I will accept this offer.”

Peter blinked at him slowly. Then he retreated his head to remove Ronan's fingers from his mouth and be able to talk.

“Wait, what, just like that?” he asked incredulously. “You mean you will really help me to escape the Grandmaster if I sleep with you?”

“I am willing to help you in any matter, as long as I find it morally bearable for myself. And I am willing to accept any form of repayment, as long as it is appropriate.”

“Huh. You're a nice guy then. Thanks a lot.”

“I am not nice, I am fair and just. Your request is reasonable, so why would I refuse it?”

Peter shrugged slightly. The dry and natural way Ronan went about this transaction startled him. Maybe he was too used to a Ravager's way of absolutely fleecing someone and only doing someone a 'favour' if it was immensely profitable for themselves. Ronan, on the other hand, seemed to have a strict and distinct sense of honour. Peter could hardly believe his luck of being able to a) get away from Sakaar and b) pay for it with sex, which wasn't really a payment but rather a second benefit from this.

“So, uh... We're gonna do this now?” he asked and let his eyes skip down Ronan's very handsome body. “Because I would be all up for it. I mean, you're already naked anyway, so I guess we could just –“

Again, Ronan's fingers pressed tightly against Peter's lips.

“You talk too much,” Ronan repeated.

Peter decided to shut it for now before he forfeited the chance he just had so expertly gained for himself here.

 


	3. Chapter 3

He began to undress by getting rid of his red leather jacket. Ronan watched him attentively, his fingers still pressed against Peter's lips. Peter tried to hold his gaze as he balanced on one foot to pull off his boots. The floor was cold underneath his bare feet and he shuddered for a moment, goosebumps breaking out all over his body.

When he pulled his shirt over his head, Ronan finally retreated his hand from his mouth.

His eyes wandered down Peter's naked body, taking it all in. Peter felt very good about his body, but right now, he was a little uncomfortable. He felt better when Ronan looked back into his eyes and Peter could see the glint in his purple irises. He wondered how it must feel to look at this face and see the determination to kill in those eyes instead of a slowly arising glimmer of lust.

Since Ronan had told him to stay quiet, Peter didn't really know what to do now. Normally, he asked his partners what they wanted, unless it was such a heated moment that words weren't necessary because your bodies reacted on their own. Right now, though, they just stood opposite each other without clothes on, and Peter wasn't sure if he should just turn around and bend over, lie down on his back somewhere, or maybe go down on his knees and let his mouth do the talking. …Okay, that didn't really work out, a mouth does _actual_ talking anyway. Never mind.

Just when Peter thought about actually ignoring Ronan's wish for him to be silent, Ronan grabbed him by the sides and lifted him off the ground. Peter made a surprised sound because it had been ages since someone had picked him up so effortlessly, and damn, had he to admit how fucking arousing he found that. Ronan's hands were firm and cool, and they gently placed Peter down again in the pool.

The water wasn't as hot as Peter had imagined it to be, it was just warm enough not to be uncomfortable. Maybe Ronan's species had another sense of temperature.

As Ronan still didn't say anything to Peter, Peter decided that he would just start his work now without saying or asking him much. If Ronan didn't like what Peter was doing or wanted him to do something else, he could just tell Peter or keep him from doing it.

So Peter cast a last glance into Ronan's bright eyes and then bent forward to place a kiss in the middle of his clavicle. Ronan tensed ever so slightly, but didn't do anything to stop his tribute.

Peter slowly kissed his way deeper, letting his lips map every rising and falling of the structure of Ronan's beautiful muscles. His hands slid down along Ronan's sides, feeling his marble-like skin underneath his fingers. It didn't only look like marble with all its spots and veins and structures, it also felt the tiniest bit rough, leaving a soft prickling on Peter's own skin as he stroked it.

Finally, Peter was down on his knees, Ronan's crotch in front of him. It was weird that he had no balls, but his dick was definitely massive, bigger than most of the ones Peter had seen so far. Its head was slightly cone-shaped and had a bulge on the underside, making it thicker there than on the top. It became thinner behind the head but widened again towards the base before it ended in three thick ridges which resembled an accordion. The shaft was thicker on the underside as well, though the bulge was becoming thinner on its own belly, like a boat.

Peter closed his hand around the shaft as far as he could and ran his thumb along the 'keel' in fascination.

To his surprise, his hand became wet. He frowned curiously and cocked his head to the side.

Ronan's skin still glistened from the water, but his dick seemed to be coated in an even thicker layer of liquid that started to spread over it continuously. It was translucent, but seemed to be a bit more viscous than water. It took Peter a moment to realise that it was lube. Ronan's dick was self-lubing, just like a human vagina. How convenient!

Of course, Peter was curious and wanted to know what it tasted like, so he slowly licked along the tip. Ronan shivered slightly, but otherwise remained calm.

The lube tasted a little salty and also a bit bitter, but altogether rather neutral. Peter was quite disappointed. He always was when space stuff wasn't as cool as he had hoped it to be, and you would think that the self-lube of a big, blue alien would taste rather spectacular, wouldn't you? But no. Well, as long as Ronan knew how to use it...

Peter looked up to the champion to meet his gaze. By now, the lust in it was unmistakable. Peter mused that it was time to prepare himself before it got too late for that.

He gave Ronan's penis a few slow strokes to coat his hand in the self-lubing liquid. Then, still looking deeply into Ronan's violet eyes, he reached around himself to his buttocks and let his slick fingers slip between them to enter his hole.

He hummed lowly as his index finger moved inside of him. Ronan watched him attentively as Peter moved the finger in and out a few times, enjoying the sweet dragging feeling. Then he added his middle finger and groaned appreciatively. Hell yeah. It had been too long since he had enjoyed that sensation.

He leaned forward to rest his chin against Ronan's hipbone while he fucked himself with his fingers, still looking up into that beautiful face with the beautiful eyes, staring down at him. The sheer thought of getting fucked by Ronan instead, the thought of his fingers being replaced by his dick, made Peter shudder in anticipation and doubled the sensation in his anus. Ronan would probably fuck like he fought. Hard, fast, precisely, effectively. He would bend Peter over and fuck his ass, he would ram himself deep inside of him hard, and he would groan and grunt in his ear, and the water would splash around them, and Peter would scream and moan his name, and they would both come on the height of their ecstasy, and Peter would feel the hot spurt of Ronan's seed inside of himself...

His eyelids started to flutter and he moaned lowly against Ronan's skin. His hips began to jerk forward, his cock desperate to feel some friction. Oh, he was definitely prepared now. He wanted the other man deep inside of his core. Now.

“Ronan,” he whispered hoarsely, pressing his face against the champion's hips. “Ronan, please...”

Ronan growled softly and shoved his hand into Peter's brown locks to pull his head back. Then he tugged firmly, but not so harsh that it would have hurt. Peter reacted by letting his fingers slip out of his body and moving in the direction that Ronan guided him.

He was pushed towards the edge of the pool and then Ronan raised and twisted his hand, so Peter had to get up a bit and turn, and then Ronan pushed him down again, effectively causing Peter to bend over the rim. God, yes, that was exactly how he had wanted it. Being manhandled with just enough force to still bear it by a man who could crush his skull if he wanted to.

Peter held onto the rim hard, trembling with anticipation.

“I do not intend to hurt you,” he heard Ronan say from right behind him. He had placed his hand on Peter's hip and the contact radiated want. Unconsciously, Peter leaned into the touch. “If it becomes too much for you at any given moment, do inform me about it.”

“No worries, you won't hurt me that easily,” Peter promised, who had survived quite a couple of things that a mere mortal probably should have died from. “I can handle you. Just give me what you got.”

Ronan grunted lowly, obviously not believing Peter's claims. Of course not. He could easily kill six enormous monster-dudes, he could probably just as easily fuck Peter to death. But Peter was still convinced he could take more than Ronan suspected, and he absolutely wanted to get it from him.

He tried to look over his shoulder to see what Ronan was doing, but then he already felt the slick head of his dick pressing against his entrance and gasped. That was definitely bigger than his fingers. But damn, did he want that thing buried inside of him right to the hilt.

As Ronan noticed that Peter was watching him, he grabbed his hair again to turn his head back to the front, even though Peter grunted, displeased.

“Relax,” Ronan ordered.

Peter grunted again, just because, but closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He fought his excitement down to relax his muscles, becoming as calm as somehow possible.

When Ronan shoved himself inside of him, though, all of his calmness was gone in an instant.

He gasped and shuddered, pressing his hands against the outside of the pool tighter.

“Oh God, Ronan,” he whispered.

The alien only grunted behind him. He was moving inside Peter with one slow but steady motion, stretching his walls further and further in a slick glide. Thanks to the lubing it didn't hurt him, but Ronan's cock was really big. Every time Peter thought it had to be fully in now, Ronan still kept on pushing it further.

Peter trembled and moaned and bent forward, offering his ass to Ronan willingly. By the time he finally felt Ronan's body pressing against his rear, he had lost all control over his senses. He was quivering, gasping, his head was already dizzy. And Ronan hadn't even moved yet. But God, his dick filled Peter up perfectly, long and thick and pulsing, and that alone was like a wet fantasy coming true for Peter.

“You are tight,” Ronan rasped behind him, arousal darkening his voice. “I shall enjoy having my way with you immensely.”

Peter shuddered and moaned again.

Ronan now grabbed his hips with both of his hands to hold it still as he began to move, slowly pulling out and then shoving back in again, his dick deliciously dragging along Peter's walls. This was heaven. By far the best escape plan Peter had ever had.

When Ronan noticed he could move with ease without hurting Peter, he started to increase the pace of his movements. They became faster and faster, and Peter moaned louder and louder as the impressive girth began to hammer inside of him in a steady rhythm. It became harder as well, Ronan's body slapping against Peter's ass with each quick and harsh thrust.

Peter got shoved against the rim of the pool repeatedly, the water waving around him in sync, its splashing building up a cacophony with the groans and gasps and the sound of flesh against flesh. It was really uncomfortable to lean there like this, but God, if this wasn't worth it.

Peter had to hold on to the wall of the pool tightly, bracing himself against the enormous thrusts with which Ronan shook his entire body. Sweet ecstasy and just the tiniest bit of electrifying pain lanced through Peter's body with each powerful intrusion, coaxing husky moans out of his already hoarse throat each time.

It was just as good as he had imagined. That thick cock fucking him hard against the pool-wall, the pleasure of it so good that it annulled the inconvenience of the awkward position entirely, his walls stretching tightly around Ronan's dick, his body being invaded over and over again in a fast, ruthless rhythm, just on the verge of too much but therefore just enough to be perfect.

But Ronan wasn't done yet.

Encouraged by the fevered sounds Peter made, he increased the force and speed of his thrusts even more, groaning and grunting excitedly himself. Peter gave a surprised scream, being thrown against the pool-wall hard.

“Fuck, Ronan!” he gasped breathlessly.

Ronan only growled lowly.

It was only thanks to his hands holding up Peter's hips that Peter didn't helplessly sink down into the water, because the merciless pounding of his ass left him completely boneless. His entire body turned into jelly, everything felt numb and burning hot, the inhumanly fast and strong hammering of Ronan's dick inside of his core the only sensation still existing in this world. Pleasure that was too much to handle flooded all of Peter's senses, overburdened his system and turned him into a sobbing, moaning, screaming mess.

He wanted to shout things like “Oh God, yes!” or “Fuck, right there!” or “Shit, this is so good!”, but he couldn't. He was reduced to hoarse, pitiful moans and gasping sounds, sometimes accompanied by a low whine.

The water splashed around him in waves now, hitting his legs and his stomach, bathing his own cock which throbbed in want. His whole body quivered, he felt hot and cold at the same time and an unmistakable pressure began to build in his lower regions. His ass already hurt from Ronan's body slapping against it hard with each thrust, but it was a good kind of hurt that only added up to the pleasure. He felt used and taken and just utterly _fucked,_ and he was filled with a pulsing white energy that would soon blow up his body.

He groaned helplessly.

With all the effort he could muster, he wrapped one hand around his own cock and squeezed and stroked it violently. His system, being overloaded as it already was, reacted immediately.

The white energy got sucked into his abdomen and fed the collecting pressure there so rapidly that it exploded within only some seconds. Heat shot out from there and through Peter's entire body, his walls contracted, his balls seemed to shrink and he shot a stream of white come into the water in front of him.

“FUUUUCK, RONAN!” Peter screamed as he came, shaken by powerful spasms. He lost his grip and collapsed onto the pool-wall. He clenched and clenched and clenched around Ronan, making the other man groan and growl in desperate ecstasy. His own thrusts became erratic, forcing his dick into the tightening tunnel of Peter's hot ass, frantically pursuing his own orgasm.

Peter kept on moaning feebly, his cock still emptying itself into the water.

Then Ronan rammed himself inside of him so hard Peter saw stars, all the way up to the hilt, and he came with a guttural growl as well. He stopped thrusting into him and held still, only jerking heavily with each spurt of come that he shot deep into Peter's used ass. Peter sobbed in pleasure at the feeling. Wave after wave of hot seed filled up his core, his clenching muscles welcoming it hungrily.

And Ronan came plenty.

Long after Peter was already spent, come was still seeping into his insides, making him shudder softly with each spurt. When Ronan was finally done and pulled out, Peter sighed lowly.

He felt the come running out of his body, down his thighs into the now calm again water. All of his strength had left him and he was feeling boneless, weak and tired. But damn if this hadn't been the best shagging that he had ever had in his lifetime.

He distantly felt Ronan's arms wrapping around him and pulling him up, cradling him against his big, broad chest. Then Ronan got up, Peter in his arms, and stepped out of the pool to carry Peter over to somewhere. Peter realised that it was the bed as soon as Ronan placed him down on it.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. Ronan only grunted softly. A moment later, Peter felt something soft on his body and instinctively grabbed it to pull it over himself. It seemed to be a big blanket or towel and he happily snuggled up beneath it.

“Gimme a short break and we can talk about that escape plan of ours,” he muttered.

“You can rest as long as you please,” Ronan stated. “We are in no hurry and you are mine as long as I wish to in front of the Grandmaster.”

“Mmh.” Peter yawned. “Why are you serving him anyway?”

“I am not serving him. We have an agreement.”

“Ah. Okay. What kind of agreement?”

“You talk too much.”

Peter grunted lowly. This time, he didn't listen to the Accuser's warning.

“If I make you an offer that's better than his,” he said, “would you make an agreement with me instead, too?”

It was quiet for a moment. Then Ronan asked: “What kind of offer?”

“You come with me and serve justice to evil people across the galaxy. And in return, you can have me as your tribute as often as you want. How's that?”

Again, Ronan was quiet for a few seconds. “In other words,” he stated then, “you want to sleep with me more often and hope I will also serve as your personal bodyguard.”

“I don't need a bodyguard,” Peter claimed. “Just someone to every now and then help me out of precarious circumstances.”

He thought he heard Ronan chuckle softly. It startled him so much that he opened his eyes, but when he looked at him, Ronan was completely stone-faced again.

“We will talk about such details later,” he determined and pulled a black robe over his naked body. “Now sleep. I cannot work with you when you are that tired.”

Peter grumbled, but made himself comfortable anyway. If Ronan said he could keep Peter safe from the old, flashy fossil, Peter would take his chances. Sleep was always good. And he probably couldn't walk much right now, anyway.

Yawning, he pulled the towel slash blanket around himself tighter and allowed his mind to drift off into dreams.

The bed smelled like Ronan, he noticed, as he fell asleep.

It wasn't a bad smell.

He would still love that smell decades later, when it had gotten an inherent part of his life and he would snuggle up against Ronan each night, said smell lulling him gently, making him feel safe and sound.

Forever.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

A sketch of Ronan's dick for all of you who're interested ;)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some good old Staraccuser smut again.  
> I love writing Staraccuser smut because I can get all filthy there.  
> Somehow, I always hold back when writing smut for other pairings.
> 
> Anyway! I hope you liked it!  
> Feedback is always welcome! ^-^


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